


The Bear in the Elevator

by sivib



Category: due South
Genre: Hot, M/M, Porn, Short, Sweet, author regrets nothing but her lost youth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sivib/pseuds/sivib
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chicago in the summertime, rolling brownouts, and stalled elevators.  Why not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bear in the Elevator

The lights overhead flicker and the elevator gives a little lurch, like it’s got the hiccups or something. Fraser and me are the only two in here, on our way back from an interview up on the eleventh floor with a bigwig tightwad who got robbed in the park last night. Bigwig is a Canadian citizen, so Fraser got sent along to liaise, lucky me. I haven’t been seeing as much of him lately, except after hours, and we’re both too tired by then to do anything but strip off, shower, and go to bed. It’s been a busy month for both of us.

Anyway, the lights flicker and the floor lurches and all Fraser’s got time to say is “Oh, dear,” when the car stops all at once and the lights go out and we’re stuck somewhere between the seventh and sixth. Rolling blackouts. Summertime in Chicago; gotta love it.

“Damn it!” I grope toward where I remember the panel being and try to find the emergency button, but when I do I get nothing. “I think we’re stuck.”

A long suffering sigh sounds to my right, and Fraser says, “No offence, Ray, but I hate Chicago. And right now I’m fairly certain it hates me.” I get what he means. This is his third summer here, and he’s wearing wool. Layers of wool. I don’t know how he stands it. Me, I’m in a t-shirt and the thinnest pair of jeans I got and I’m suffering bad.

The air is getting stuffy. No power, no AC, no fan. I pull at my collar to let in a bit of air and then I hear something weird.

Now, I heard this sound plenty of times before. When Fraser starts undoing all his buttons and snaps and straps and shit, well, the noise is pretty distinctive. And, damn me, if that’s not what I hear right now. The soft snick of his Sam Brown falling to the floor, followed by a whump of thick cloth. 

“Fraser?”

A double shuss and snap as the suspenders come down…

“Fraser…”

…and then two thumps as the boots come off.

“Fraser?”

A whisper of cloth sliding down those long legs.

“Uh…Frase?”

And, last but not least, the hat. It sails past me and hits the wall, flung hard.

“Fraser!”

“Yes, Ray?” He’s standing in the dark, naked, and he sounds just as cool as a cucumber. Actually, he sounds like he’s stroking himself. I’d know that sound anywhere, too.

I start to ask what the hell is going on, but then acres of horny, sweaty, growling Mountie is plastered against me and pinning me to the wall and I got better things to do with my mouth than ask stupid questions.

We kinda fell into this, after we got back from Sault Ste Marie and that whole thing with the Robert MacKenzie and the gold and everything. A real duet, clicking and firing together on all cylinders and all. So one night, over a feast of noodles and pad Thai, he ups and kisses me. Not being an idiot, I kiss him back, and before we know it we’re humping like bunnies on a semi-regular basis, which is beyond great as far as I’m concerned. We might be talking love here, but I’m digressing.

His hands are all over me, up under my shirt and into my jeans. Mine are full of him, and we’re kissing deep and nasty like I like it but like he ain’t never kissed me before this. Fraser’s considerate, and passionate, but he ain’t nasty. This kissing is something new. All tongue and teeth and nipping and growling and licking and oh my god I’m hard enough to cut glass and he ain’t even touched my dick yet.

Some distant corner of my brain engages for a split second. “What if the power comes back on?” I say, and then he’s got his hands on my dick and I got my hands on his ass and my jeans are down and we’re rubbing together so slick and good it almost hurts.

“Two minutes and thirteen seconds,” he says against my neck, and bites a fold of skin and worries it like Deif worries a bone. “Naked to regulation readiness. My record is two minutes and eight seconds, but I’m a little distracted just now.” He licks the bite and turns me around and tugs my shirt off and licks a line down my back to my ass and I can’t stop yelling and my brain is long gone. My jeans are, too, and I just spread my legs and brace myself as he works his tongue in and then his finger and then he’s standing up and covering my hands with his and chewing on the back of my neck.

“I’m so ready,” I say, and he’s nudging me and opening me and he’s in and oh god but it’s good and hot and too. Damn. Slow.

Frase grunts as I push back and he’s in me and I’m in heaven here in the dark with him fucking me and cussing quietly (‘cos this is still Fraser, after all) and we move like we were born for this. He’s hitting my sweet spot and I’m leaking and coming a little every time he pushes into me and my knees are going, but he’s got me he’s got me and I’ve got him and we’re on the floor and now his cussing ain’t so quiet.

One arm around my chest, holding me to him, the other snaking around and jacking me sweet and rough and he’s biting me again, high on my shoulder, as he drives into my ass. Too much, too much and I’m coming and shaking and he’s got me and he’s coming hard, too, jerking against me and whispering Ray Ray Ray like my name is some kind of prayer, glory halleluiah, amen.  
The carpet is scratchy and it stinks, but we’re both too wiped to move. “What the hell was that?” I ask.

All I get in answer is a low chuckle and then he’s licking my dick clean and helping me put on my jeans again. When the lights come on, he’s back in full Mountie mode, hat in hand and boots on feet, looking like he stepped out of a recruiting poster. I, on the other hand, look like I’ve just been fucked by a bear. 

Fraser looks me over, noting the bite marks on my neck, and winces. “Sorry, Ray. I’m afraid I let myself go a little.” He reaches toward his belt and opens his bag of tricks. “I have a salve that might…”

“Forget it, Frase,” I say, and grin. “I kinda like it. Let ‘em wonder.” I’m thinking, when we get home I’m turning out the lights and see if I can find the bear again. Make him scream, maybe, and put my mark on him. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Understood.”

End

**Author's Note:**

> Another blast from the past, found on my hard drive. I think I was experimenting with writing porn at the time. I've pretty much done on to less explicit stuff, but this was fun to rediscover.


End file.
